mod_squad_gamesfandomcom-20200213-history
There's no illegal activity happening over here Officer.
Dimitri Yolrick would never consider himself a thief or take such an accusation lying down. That wasn’t to say he was above stealing or selling stolen goods, he just wouldn’t admit to such a crime. That was in fact his entire source of income at present. He came from the nearby planet Beaumonde and called one of its many factory cities home. Unfortunately authorities in that city weren’t feeling particularly friendly toward Dimitri and he was wanted for questioning on multiple counts of fencing. Dimitri suspected they had all the answers they needed and were more interested in slapping him behind bars. Incarceration was a terrible business plan when profit margins were already low so he was avoiding that pitfall by doing business on Persephone instead. He stood in his stall at one of the many vender booths shouting at each passersby and challenging anyone to find a better deal on the goods he was peddling. "Hot cakes! Really fucking hot hotcakes! High quality goods; you buy one, I give you two for the price of one. Hell I even package them for you!" He leaned, stooping over his goods, gesticulating at the passer-byes streaming by. He was sure in his stance, a stoic expression on his face as he barked at the crowd, still being careful to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity that would do him any harm. Sure, Persephone was a huge place; practically a maze spreading downward and out in every possible direction, but one still had to worry sometimes. You sometimes get foolhardy Alliance patrols or a fool-hardy Tongs enforcer looking to make profit. He looked at his shop, wedged between an artifact peddler and a particularly strange twitchy man selling worn gun pieces and shook his head and sat back, deep in thought. For a moment he doubted himself. He was a man of simplicity at his center, he only sought comfort. Why risk it with the Alliance? Why not get simple job on Beaumonde? He shook his head and muttered aloud, "Большой человек не принадлежит к маленькой клетке." (=Big man does not belong in small cage.) The large burly man plopped back onto a makeshift stool of component cases. He was rather large, wide shoulders, about 6’3” with a well trimmed beard, messy short hair, obviously unkempt due to lack of care and lack of necessity. He wore an open jumpsuit with a dingy sleeveless undershirt beneath, and simple clothing, stuff that’s isn’t particularly noticeable. It never does pay to be noticed in his line of work. Especially in places like these. Discretion pays. Factory work was too soul crushing, the pay was bad and it was generally a rough deal. He would sell wares and find passage to easy life, Alliance be damned. There was a bit of a disturbance four stalls over and people could be seen tripping over themselves to get out of the way of the commotion. A grey uniform separated itself from the mass, “You there!” An Alliance guard pointed at Dimitri and began working his way through the crowd. “Run, go on. Run so I can shoot you in the back. Hands up where I can see them.” It was only as he was right upon the stall Dimitri could see the Alliance was directing his attention to the vendor one over, the one selling gun components that should have been scrapped and melted down. Dimitri slowly and calmly went about stashing his “hotcakes” without drawing attention. No sudden moves, just a vendor out of a category merchandise, packing up his pittance to put some more merchandise out. He slid the components into the case under the counter and put the tray they were in back on the front and took the simple cake he had on him just in case and crumbled it lightly and slowly over the empty tray and ate the rest and sat back and put on a stoic bored expression. This was clearly not his first time. The Alliance troop continued hassling the owner of the neighboring stall and it looked like Dimitri was going to skirt past detection once again. That was, until the second Alliance troop standing off to the other side of Dimitri’s stall cleared his throat. “Think you’re a clever one, don’t you?” He leveled his rifle at Dimitri and called across to his colleque. “Hey, Bob, look what we have right under your nose.” Dimitri looked calmly down the barrel without so much as a twitch. "What, you want me to make new batch of hotcakes?" He looked seriously at the guard, keeping a calm face. Shake ups are a dime a dozen, that dime being twice the pay these two assholes got in one shift. "I make with special ingredient, passed down from Dmitri's babushka." He raised his hands slowly above the counter, showing that his hands bore no weapons and waited expectantly for his reply, his hands steady in the air above the table, like a surgeon poised for surgery.